


start your engines

by Anonymous



Category: Stargirl (TV 2020)
Genre: M/M, Nonmonogamous Relationship, Sex on a Car, Unsafe Sex, not in one. on one., this is a gift but i'm not sure you could say it's a good one.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:55:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27927883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: "It'sfreezing.""Then let's warm up a little, right?"
Relationships: Lawrence Crock/Pat Dugan
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7
Collections: Anonymous





	start your engines

**Author's Note:**

> the person who this is for... well, you know who you are. i can't work on any of my millions of WIPs but i sure can write this huh. sorry. set aside from the normal "continuity" which is why i didn't just lump this under behind closed doors (this is by the same anonymous user if it wasn't already overwhelmingly obvious).

“It’s  _ freezing.” _

“Cold builds character, bud!” Larry prods at chest of the--in retrospect exceptionally thin--plaid shirt Pat has on. “C’mon, don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it.”

“No, I can honestly say I haven’t,” Pat says. He crosses his arms. “It’s like a refrigerator in here."

“Then let’s warm up a little, right?” Larry pushes his nose into the crook of Pat’s neck. For all his talk of being cold, his skin’s sure running hot. “Besides, it’s your garage. You could turn up the heat if you wanted to.”

“The heater’s broken.” It’s more of a contented sigh than a real protest. Evidently he likes what Larry’s doing, enough that he relaxes and lets Larry pull his arms down and brace his hands against the hood of the car he’s pressed against. “We really shouldn’t--I have a clutch I need to fix, I haven’t even started taking out the transmission yet…”

“You can fix it later.” Larry rolls his eyes and unzips the fly on Pat’s jeans.  _ “We’ve  _ got all night.”

“Wait--” Pat shoos him back. Larry goes with it. He’s not backing out. If he wanted to do that he’d have told him to get lost when he first showed up at the garage to bother him. “My car. This is someone else’s, they don’t pay me to  _ clean  _ these, we have to use my car.”

Larry’s seemingly ever-present manic grin gets wider and he literally picks Pat up around the waist to haul him over to the Buick, still parked inside and in the middle of repairs. Thankfully the hood’s already been replaced, making a nice flat surface for him to be semi-tossed onto. Carrying him shouldn’t be that easy for someone who’s not a meta-human. Pat knows he’s not the biggest guy around, but Crusher only has a few inches on him. Working out can’t get you  _ that  _ far, can it?

The heat of Larr--Crusher’s hands feels nice when he reaches under Pat’s shirt to grab him by the waist again and position him against the shiny red hood. His hands move lower to continue his earlier mission of getting Pat’s pants down. Pat lets him get about as far as his thighs before making a noise and trying to pull his attention back up to pressing closer, closer,  _ closer-- _ the intimacy he likes (not craves, not anymore, but you don’t have to  _ need  _ something to  _ like  _ it) that Larry doesn’t usually give. Maybe he’d call it huddling for warmth if Larry asked him about it. To bad for him; Larry feels like his skin might as well be steaming.

“You were waiting for this, weren’t you?” Larry says, and lets go with one hand so he can fumble around in his pockets while the other one works Pat’s boxers down. He’d  _ told  _ Paula that carrying one of those little bottles of lube with him everywhere would pay off eventually! “Working late, dressing like  _ that…” _

“I’m just wearing my normal clothes?” Pat just looks confused. Nobody considers jeans and a normal shirt to be on the level of…whatever Larry is talking about. Lingerie? That’s only for Barb’s eyes, anyway… At least he doesn’t question the tiny container Larry manages to retrieve from his sweat jacket. Larry  _ does  _ just seem like that type of guy.

“C’mon, get into it!” Larry encourages. “Steady for a second, alright?”

Pat stays mostly still, though he does try to push himself up higher. The angle’s all wrong for his position, and the slope is at just the right spot to hurt his back, and the frame for the plate digs into the back of his calves. It’d probably be easier if he turned over, wouldn’t it? Right?

“Ah-ah-ah. No thinking,” Larry scolds, and Pat jumps a little when he feels his hands going down again and skate past his hips and--okay. Okay. He makes a sound when the finger inside him presses up and for a second there’s a little burst of stars in his head. “You need to learn how to relax. I got you. You don’t have to get all up in your own head about it. Just relax.”

Pat nods, dazed. Larry does that same trick with his finger again, and this time Pat shudders against him, trying to pull him in again. Closer. It’s always closer, with him. His eyes are already half shut. Jesus, Larry’s barely even  _ done  _ anything to him, and he’s got him in the palm of his hand. Easy as that.

By the time he’s worked in a second finger--he’s tempted to ask if he should see if they can go for  _ four  _ this time--and is close to the third, he’s a not-so-little shivering mess. There’s no purchase on the hood of the car, and he keeps shifting position to try to sit up more so he can  _ really  _ cling onto Larry, while at the same time melting into a visibly blissed-out puddle. At some point he fully lost his pants, making it much easier for him to hike up his leg for better access and try not to slip. 

“Should I--” is the only thing Pat gets out before Larry gets it up to three. He jerks enough to cover his face with his hands. Larry guesses what he was going to say.

“You doubting me, pal?” He laughs. “Give me some credit here. This isn’t my first rodeo. ‘Sides, you know how long I’ve thought about this? At first I wanted it to be in some of those seats, but I don’t think either of us could fit in there anymore. Too much muscle, you know?” With the hand not otherwise occupied, he pokes Pat’s stomach. “This, though? I mean, in my head, that garage door was open, but…”

He shrugs easily. Pat makes a croaking noise with his vocal cords somehow and tries to pull (push?) Larry’s fingers deeper,  _ better-- _ “Now,” he says. It’s not  _ enough.  _ It’s not going to be enough. He fumbles to try to pull down Larry’s running pants, and succeeds by pure chance. “Please--Larry--Crusher,  _ please--” _

“Well, since you asked so nicely…” It’s easy enough to lift him higher, pull him up more--and Pat whines at the friction it creates, trying to rut against Larry’s sternum--and then  _ finally  _ push into him the way he’s wanted to from the start. “How’s that?”

“Faster,” Pat says. Impatient. Larry hasn’t even really started yet. “Please--ohgod.”

Larry’s smile never faded, but it somehow brightens even more now as Pat lets his head fall back and uncmfortably smack into the hood of the car. He doesn’t bother trying to sit up again while Larry fucks him into the metal hard enough that his breathing goes ragged. 

“Feels even better on my end,” he says conspiratorially. “Better than any fleshlight I ever had. So hot and tight. Most of the people in this town don’t know what they’re missing with you.” 

Pat stumbles through a litany of  _ yes, yes, yes, yes  _ under his breath, white encroaching on the edges of his vision. It’s so good, it’s so good, he’s so big and strong, strong enough that he’s able to essentially hold Pat up. If Larry--if Crusher wanted to, he could use Pat as a--a  _ sex toy  _ whenever they were together. He almost climaxes right then and there, thinking of Crusher strolling into his house and ordering Pat facedown. The kids wouldn’t be home, it’d just be him and Crusher and maybe Barb and Crusher wouldn’t even bother with the bedroom, he’d hold him down right there in the front hallway and fuck him just like this. Over and over again and oh, god, it’s so good, it’s so good, it feels so good--

Someone’s phone rings.

_ Pat’s  _ phone rings, because it comes from the pocket of his jeans and it’s not blaring  _ Eye of the Tiger  _ at top volume, so it isn’t Crusher’s.

Larry somehow gets it in his hand and answers it before Pat has time to protest. 

Whoever is on the other line makes him grin. Well, he already was. But it gets wider and much more predatory. 

“Heyyy, Barbara,” Larry says casually, pulling Pat upright more. He’s not actively thrusting anymore, taking away the nearly frantic pace and replacing it with something that’s just  _ not enough. _ “Sorry, Pat’s a little tied up at the moment. You want me to take a message?”

Pat tries to take the phone from him. “Larry, that’s--ow!” He jolts and almost completely unbalances when Larry pinches his ribs.  _ “Crusher,  _ that’s mine, give that to me.”

“Sure, sure.” Larry pulls the phone away from his ear and presses it into his own shoulder to muffle the receiver. “Do you need anything at the grocery store?”

“This is ridiculous,” Pat says. Or at least he tries to, because he ends up falling backward again when Larry rolls his eyes and reaches  _ between  _ them. There’s no more support keeping him up, so his back hurts, but it feels so nice and Larry’s hand is so warm that he can’t help but buck up into it.  _ “Oh-- _ mhm.”

“Nah, he’s good,” Larry tells the phone. “Anything else?” He listens seriously to whatever it is Barb says on the other end of the line and lets Pat writhe and clench around him before hanging up and clicking the phone shut. There’ll be time to bully him about his choices in dinosaur tech later. “I’m supposed to give you this.”

He kisses Pat hard, harder than Barbara probably wanted him to, and tosses his phone somewhere on the ground--it’ll be fine, that thing probably survived the last few ice ages, hitting some cement won’t kill it--so both his hands will be free to lift him up again so he can actually get a good angle. That phone call was a real distraction. Next time he’ll have to remember to send pictures from his own phone in advance so they don’t get interrupted again.

Pat wraps his legs tighter and rocks to try to create more pressure, not able to stroke himself because of how his fingers seem to be permanently indented in Larry’s shoulders. Also because he probably knows Larry wouldn’t let him. That was for pacification purposes only--he wouldn’t have actually gotten him off like that. Not tonight.

“See, there we go,” he says, and because Pat’s brain stopped properly functioning a minute or so ago he’s not sure what it is that’s different about this position that makes it physically possible for Larry to change his pace from downright leisurely to damn near  _ punishing. _

Whatever it is, he manages to choke out some more words of encouragement  _ (yes this is good please, please, please, more) _ before he’s reduced to only half-gasps of pleasure and tiny mumbles that were probably originally intended to be words. 

It’s good. It’s good and he just wants to say that because Larry deserves to hear it, right? He should hear about how the intense pleasure on all sides is getting to be too much, and he should hear about the dream Pat had a few nights ago about almost exactly this, and he should hear about how good he is. How there are  _ superheroes  _ who’ve tried what he’s doing now and it didn’t feel half as good. He should tell him. Shouldn’t he? Shouldn’t--

It isn’t surprising when Larry only stops for a minor repositioning when Pat shudders and comes so hard it’s like a kick in the gut. His vision goes white and his limbs feel like jello. It’s still not hard to pinpoint when Larry tips over the edge, though, because he grips tight enough that a bone somewhere in Pat’s spine pops and for a second it’s hard to breathe through the crushing weight.

The repositioning was so he could make sure he got as much from both of them on the car as possible, of course. Property marking or whatever. Pat’s synapses still aren’t working how they should, and with the way Larry’s--Crusher’s holding him it’s painfully (nearly literally--all of Pat’s nerves feel frayed and overstimulated) obvious that he’s still very much deep inside him.

Pat struggles to breathe, sticky all over with sweat and worse. The pleasant buzz starts leaching out of him and he lets himself relax. Crusher makes zero moves to do the same, and even when he drops Pat back onto the hood of the car he still doesn’t pull out. Which has  _ got  _ to be uncomfortable, right? It definitely feels kind of weird for Pat.

“Told you we’d warm up,” Larry says cheerfully.  _ He  _ didn’t really break a sweat, it takes more than that to get  _ him  _ to feel exerted, thank you very much, but Pat sure did, skin flushed and panting. Larry scoffs internally. He wasn’t even the one doing any of the work. “Fun, right?”

“Yeah,” Pat says faintly. He’s pretty optimistic that his jeans not being down all the way protected the backs of his legs from the scrapes he could feel from the plate frame. He should really check and see if his phone is broken. He wriggles a little to see if that’ll send the message that he wants Crusher to back off now, please, and luckily it does. He shudders when he moves away at the uncomfortable sensation it causes. 

“Hang on.” Larry makes no moves to rescue Pat’s phone from the floor, but he does pull out his own--a  _ normal  _ one, not one used exclusively by grandmothers, which also has...whoops. Three missed calls from Jordan. Eh, it’s probably nothing--and points the camera at him. “Smile, bud.”

Pat rolls his eyes and doesn’t smile, but he does give a begrudging thumbs up. It’s either for Larry--for Crusher himself or for Barb, because Mrs. Brooks has expressed nothing but complete apathy toward his general existence, so it’s not going to her. 

“We’ll use a pickup truck or something next time,” Larry says. It’s as close to thoughtful as he can get.

Pat shrugs. God, his back hurts. At least if they were in a truck he could put some cushioning down. “Sure.”

Larry imagines simply fucking Pat in the back of a truck, assuming it would be about the same amount of fun for both of them. Pat imagines finding and setting up a small, twin-sized air mattress in the bed of a pickup truck. He does  _ have _ the truck at home and it wouldn’t be that hard to find an air mattress slim enough to fit if they kept the tailgate down…they could probably make it work. 

“You’re gonna have to clean yourself up before you can take out that transistor or whatever the hell.” Larry cocks his head like this is something that only just occurred to him. “My house is closer, and Paula’s with Artemis. Nice big shower, you’ve been in it, you know what I’m talking about.”

Pat sighs. “Give me a few more minutes. And if we do go over there, I’m too tired for round two. I’m not the one who spends all his free time working out. I feel like I got hit by a bus.”

“That’s a  _ you  _ problem, pal.” Larry claps him on the shoulder. Pat wonders if he’s even aware that neither of them have pulled their pants back up, with all that entails. He just got fucked on the hood of his own car by a man he is not married to and somehow it’s still hard for him to even  _ look  _ at Larry’s dick despite the fact that it was  _ inside him _ only a few minutes ago. “Come on, you’ll feel better soon. I’ll even try giving you a massage. You’d like that, right?”

“...That would be nice,” Pat admits. “Alright. Just let me get my pants back on.” He’ll need to clean those, too, just to make sure...maybe Crusher will let him use his washing machine. He’d probably like it if Pat asked to borrow a pair of pants from him in the meantime. He zips his jeans. “Lead the way.”

Larry slings his arm around his shoulder. At least he pulls his own pants up, even if it seemed like an afterthought. “I promise, you’ll be back here fixing that car before you know it."

(As it turns out, Pat  _ isn’t  _ too tired for round two, and Larry’s lying about how long it’ll take to get him back to the garage when they’re done.

Oh, well. There’s always tomorrow.)


End file.
